


Small Hours

by gearbox



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Series: Night, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-03-23
Updated: 2000-03-23
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11121048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gearbox/pseuds/gearbox
Summary: Fraser, on the rocks.This story is a sequel toMidnight Hour.





	Small Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

small hours/gearbox

# Small Hours

Gearbox  
Oct/Nov 99

Rating: R?   
Summary: As Robert Johnson sang: "It's hard to tell, it's hard to tell when all your love's in vain." 

Notes: Companion to "Midnight Hour" , the night after "The Ladies Man" 

I love my beta-readers. Thanks to Maxine for cutting to the heart of the matter, and to Sandy, Crysothemis, and Audra for keeping me honest. 

I know the right word, and my beta readers know the right word. But sometimes Ray doesn't. 

I write this stuff for love. You couldn't pay me enough to do this for money. They belong to Alliance. 

Feedback would be appreciated at gearbox@earthling.net 

* * *

It wasn't working. Not even dancing settled me enough to sleep. I kept moving, though. Danced out the rest of the song, the rest of the CD. 

All I had to do was get through the rest of the night, and tomorrow would be better. Short of someone dying, tomorrow couldn't be worse than today. And no one died today.

Nearly one in the morning. Three am would be colder and lonelier but that was the hump. Once I'm past three, it's a slow slide to sunrise. I nearly always catch a nap between dawn and when my alarm goes off. But damn, I wished I could get to sleep and just skip the rest of the black hours.

I turned off the stereo. 

I had walked Beth Botrelle through the house, through the events of the night I'd arrested her. And then I'd cried my eyes out. Yeah, it was closure, I'd needed it as much as Beth had, sure. Hurt like hell, though. And now what I needed, needed real bad, was sleep.

Couldn't do it, though. I came home, fell on the bed. Fraser even tucked me in, 'cause I didn't care about whether I was on the covers or under them. Soon as he left, though, my eyes popped open. Too tired to sleep.

Dancing usually settles me. But when it doesn't, I've only got one thing left to try. I pulled my t-shirt off and laid down on the bed again. Gave myself a good crotch scratch while I rooted around for a fantasy that would work for me tonight.

The only good thing about bringing yourself off is that you can fall asleep right afterwards. If you don't have a girl, you don't have to talk afterwards, don't have to keep your eyelids open for the "was it good for you?" talk. And since Stella left, there's no talk about work, or what you're planning for the weekend, or whatever. Not that I minded doing that, I mean, snuggling with Stella was one of my favorite things in the world, but when I get off, I want to fall asleep. So, jerking off isn't even a close second to sex but if what I want is sleep rather than fun, it usually works.

But damned if it did the job tonight. I'm laying there, comfortable, tired, Little Ray in hand -- it should've been easy. But naked Cindy Crawford kept turning into Beth Botrelle wearing her prison coveralls, saying she'd killed her husband, saying it just to make me feel better. My cock was not pleased about the mixed messages my brain was sending. Blue ball city. And adios to my last chance for sleep tonight.

I pulled my boxers back up over my half-hard cock, and stared at the ceiling. Wasn't that just the perfect ending for the day, I couldn't even jerk off. Pathetic. My eye caught on the hole where the bug had been. I should spackle that, maybe paint the whole ceiling. Along with the one in the livingroom.

I grinned to myself, reminded of the old joke -- what does a Jewish American princess say during sex? I -- the skinny Polish cop -- said the punch-line out loud: "Beige. The ceiling should be beige." Pathetic, but kinda funny.

* * *

Did Fraser ever have nights like this? 'Course he did, the Mountie was human, even if he hid behind the superman act. Which act was gonna break down, sooner or later, 'cause no one can live like that, untouchable. No man's an island, but Fraser does his damnedest. 

For a while it'd driven me nuts. I wanted to break him open, see the guy underneath the shell. I'd gotten my look, but it sucked, 'cause we ended up popping each other, and bitching at each other, and guess what? Under that shell, Fraser's pissy and sarcastic and even more of a pain to be around than usual. Fraser's human, big surprise! Except it had been a surprise to me. Don't know why I expected him to be perfect all the way to the core. But I did. Stupid, huh?

Anyway, after we wrapped up that freighter case, I kinda backed off. If the Mountie mask works for him, fine. I can still see under it. If one of these days the face he puts on for the world doesn't work, he'll need a friend around. Or else he'll end up like Turnbull or something. Fraser's already a freak, he doesn't need to be any weirder.

He seems to like being alone -- but I can see him get lonely sometimes. With Janet whatshername, the sparks were sure flying, but he didn't chase her, and I never figured out why not. Even Superman had Lois Lane.

I wondered what Fraser would look like the morning after he got laid. Dazed and sleepy? Naw, he'd be smiling to himself, and chipper as hell. Yeah, that sounded like Fraser.

From there, I went over the rest of my coworkers. After a night of mind-blowing sex, Dewey's even more of a wiseass than usual. Huey hums Carpenters songs all day. I guess Frannie'd get that big vacant smile and her makeup wouldn't quite cover the hickey.

* * *

The phone barely had a chance to ring before I was   
sitting up, phone to my ear, reaching for my pants.   
Late-night calls are never good news. "Vecchio." I   
hoped it was about work, not Mom and Dad.

"Ray-"

Fraser. And he didn't sound too good. 

"Fraser, what's wrong, where are you?" And where'd I put my shirt?

He cleared his throat. "Nothing's wrong. I'm at the Consulate. I just. . .I was thinking of you. I wondered how you were feeling. . ."

His voice was nasal. Stopped up nose, tight throat, calling me for no reason in the middle of the night. There's a reason they call me a detective. Looked like maybe he needed a friend right now. Hell, I didn't really want to face 3 am alone, anyway.

I kept him talking for long enough to dress, made some excuse -- a midnight snack -- to pick him up.

But then my brain caught up with my mouth. Deal with a Mountie meltdown in a diner, was I nuts? Sure, I blew some snot bubbles in the car earlier, but Fraser'd die if he showed emotion in public. I improvised, "Look, if you're too tired, we can just have hot chocolate in the kitchen there. Then I'll tuck you in like a good little Mountie and come home again."

I stood up. Too suddenly; I got dizzy and I remembered how tired I was. Screw sleep, though. Even if I could get to sleep, that was my partner calling for help. I hung up and hoped there was Mountain Dew left in the fridge.

* * *

No trouble on the trip over. Through the drizzle, I saw two guys in a doorway, looked like one was pushing the other into the wall, and I started to pull over. But then I saw the liplock, and the way they were both holding on. Good for them, and good for me -- I needed to get to Fraser, I didn't want to stop to arrest a mugger. But I wished they'd take it off the street.

I let myself into the Consulate by carding the lock, as usual. I need to get them a decent lock, anybody could come wandering in here at night. I think that every time I let myself in, and I forget about it afterwards, every time. Nice to know I'm predictable.

I headed down the stairs to the kitchen, calling "Hey, Frase."

No answer, and the lights were off. I backtracked to his closed office door. "Fraser?"

"Ray, come in." He sounded better than before. Normal, almost. But if he was normal, he'd be in the kitchen, the cocoa would be made, and he'd probably have waxed the floor, too.

I eased the door open, and the first thing that hit me was the smell of sex. Whoa, Fraser'd out-done me again. 

I didn't think for even a second that he'd had company - \- can't think of too many people who would put up with that torture device he sleeps on. Naw, he'd gone solo.

I wondered if he'd jerked off before or after the call. But I didn't really want to know, didn't want to even have had that thought. Sometimes cops call partnership a marriage, but even when I was married there were some of Stella's body functions I didn't want to know about. And I love Fraser, I do, but there's such a thing as too much closeness.

"Hey. You all right?" I stepped into the room and shut the door behind me.

He was sitting on the edge of his cot, hands together, head down -- if I didn't know him better, I'd have guessed he was praying. I checked the set of his shoulders -- no one else would notice, but they were tense.

See, Fraser's shoulders an' me, we talk. I kinda knew all along that his body says what he can't, but we struck up a friendship in that tiny little sub. Sometimes we have whole conversations without a word, me and those shoulders. We're tight.

I slipped around the desk and sat next to him. "Frase?" If the cot was a little narrower, I'd be able to lean back against the wall.

He turned to me and . . . I don't know how to describe it -- his eyes were hot, he looked like he was on the trail of something, like he was hunting. Except this time he was looking at me. Like he was hunting me, or something in me.

It was the least friendly look he'd ever given me. And it made me mad. "Do not get freaky on me, Frase. It's been too long a day."

He looked down, rubbed his hands together. "No. I-" He swallowed whatever else he'd meant to say. Finally his shouldered straightened, and he said, in his perfect- Mountie voice, "Thank you for coming, Ray."

That made me even madder. "On the phone, you sounded like ya could use a friend," I replied. "So, you gonna talk to me, or are you gonna pretend everything's fine and dandy? 'Cause if everything's fine, I'm not hanging around, I need to catch some snoozes."

"I do need a friend, Ray." Now he was being his humble weird self, rather than his super-Mountie freak. That was an improvement, at least. He did that thing with his tongue, that thing that'd look like a blatant come-on from anyone else. He said, "I, that is, sometimes I get lonely."

I coulda laughed, but I was his friend, and he was trying to talk about how he was feeling and it was hard for him. 

Want to know something else about Fraser? He's got a farsighted heart. He can look at strangers and see exactly how they're feeling, he can even play them sometimes -- I've seen him do it. But once he gets to know people, once he gets to caring about them, his emotional vision goes all fuzzy. And I'm not sure, but I bet he's blind as a bat to how he feels himself. So I said -- 

"Yeah, I know. I do too. Get lonely, I mean. So, every now and again, that's what friends and hot cocoa's for, right?" I stood up and headed for the door. Two am, and all's well in Canada, till he threw me for a screwball.

He said, "Not friends."

Shit! What'd I say? I didn't do anything. I kept the panic out of my voice when I turned to face him. "Whatcha mean, Frase? I thought we just agreed --"

He had that look again, that look like Dief stalking someone else's cheeseburger. "Not just any friend. You, Ray."

I'm not just any friend. Okay, that was good, I was good with that. But Fraser was running hot and cold, and it had me spooked. He closed in on me. I waited to see what he'd do. He just put his hand on my arm, just held it, and we were nearly nose-to-nose. I was checking out his face from way closer than usual. Nice eyes. Super-Mountie'd gone to Minneapolis for the weekend, I thought, 'cause all I saw in his eyes was Ben Fraser, trying to deal with his feelings and barely able to tell which way was up.

And I wanted to help him, but I was so bushed I could barely see straight, and I was still spooked. Just 'cause someone doesn't know what they're doing doesn't make them harmless. And I wouldn't call Fraser harmless even if he was unconscious and cuffed.

I didn't know what the deal was. What was that call about? Why tonight? Did he call me for help, or did it have to do with me, with the partnership? Did the end of the Botrelle case remind him of some Inuit prophecy, or what? 

"So what about those drinks?" I pulled away a little, and he let me go.

"What?"

"You promised me hot cocoa. You gonna welsh on me?" 

And bing! I guess Super-Mountie was just on coffee break, he was back, or maybe this was just Mr. Logical. "As I recall, you were the one who suggested it. I'm more interested in your company than in imbibing. But of course, should you wish, I'd be happy to make you some cocoa, especially after dragging you from your bed so late." All in one breath. 

I interrupted before he could fill his lungs again -- just from self-preservation. "Ya didn't drag me, and I wasn't in bed, Frase. Well, I was, but not sleeping."

"Then what?"

"I was doin' pretty much the same thing you were." Usually I wouldn't tease him like that, but it just slipped out, the way I'd tease any other guy.

Fraser blushes prettier than any other guy I've ever seen. More often, too. Red looks good on him. I figured that's the end of the conversation 'cause Fraser never talks about sex. 

So when he said, "I was thinking of you, tonight," I didn't catch on right away.

"Well yeah," I said, "I guessed that, since you ca--" and then I got it. 

But I didn't really believe it, so I waved at the bed. "Ya mean, thinking of me that way." 

He nodded.

Oh jesus god. 

I thought about a thousand things at once, including that I was right -- I was the prey; and that all those signals I'd been discounting because they were from Fraser had really been signals from Fraser; and that he was shaking; and that Fraser talking about sex was one of the most erotic things I'd met outside Stella's bedroom; and that I said once that I'd try anything, but I'd already tried gay sex and it sucked; and that Fraser as a lover was probably aggressive and possessive and the thought turned me on and off at the same time; and that I was way way too tired to deal with this ball of wax tonight; and that I should start breathing again real soon now.

"Ray, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything --" Which was a cop-out, and a passive-aggressive pure Fraser move, both. More crap I didn't need. 

"Fraser. Siddown and shut up for a minute, and let me think."

The old Kowalski synopses were moving slow tonight, but my body was still hyper. I was across the room and back before I even noticed I'd moved. Fraser was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his hands, shoulders hunched, looking about as tired as I felt.

I moved closer to him, leaned back against the desk. I had to say something. "Fraser. Yer my partner. I don't want to lose you."

This was going to be tough. I'd rather gnaw my own leg off than hurt Fraser, but I couldn't see how biting myself was going to help him any. "But I can't --" saying it was harder than I expected. If he looked at me then I wouldn't have been able to keep going. But he kept his head down, and I kept talking, "Frase, I'm sorry. I'm just not wired that way."

Then I got the motormouth, maybe to wash away the sour taste in my mouth. "Been there, done that, decided not to buy the t-shirt. If it was anybody else, I'd be freaking, but you're you, so it's okay. I mean, I know you, I know you won't try anything if I'm not into that. I mean, you know, that." 

We sat in silence for a moment. His shoulders were facing the gas chamber, giving up hope. Me, I hoped we could sort it all out in the morning, we could work with this. I was counting on it. I wasn't willing to lose him.

"Frase, if you want, I can leave now, see you in the morning."

He shook his head.

"Ya want me to stay?"

He nodded, which was a damn good thing, and I let him know it. "Good, 'cause I don't wanna leave ya like this." 

And I don't know why, but that's what cracked him. It took me a minute to figure out that those drops falling on his hands were tears, that he was crying. Geeze, I thought a woman crying was tough to bear -- it's got nothing on a crying Mountie. 

Aw, hell. I said something and moved towards him, slid between him and the wall, sat on the bed behind him, using my arms and legs to wrap him in a bear hug. I think I told him it'd be okay. I held him while he cried. Rocking him a little, just like he was a little kid.

He didn't cry for that long, or that much. He didn't make a sound except a couple sniffles. Then he just leaned back into me, and fell asleep.

And ya know, I did too. And it felt really good.

* * *

I woke up about an hour later with an aching neck, but otherwise comfortable enough. I was still used to sleeping with someone, although usually someone smaller and lighter. He weighed a ton. He felt like a Mountie-sized teddybear -- warm and cozy. But that skinny rock of a bed was digging into my backside and my back was getting bent into a pretzel, so I eased Fraser off me. 

Time to relocate to that couch in the front parlor. I tested all the couches when I'd sacked out here for a couple days last summer. No way was I driving home now. Tomorrow would be here soon enough, and all it's battles. But I felt pretty good, pretty calm, pretty content, as I stood up and stretched. Besides, I knew where they kept the spare blankets. Thick soft wool blankets.

Before I crashed, I went back into Fraser's room to turn off the light and put one of those blankets over him. Hey, I said I'd tuck him in. I promised.

* * *

Maintain the writer! Send feedback to   
gearbox@earthling.net


End file.
